Stay In My Memory
by InkAndPens394
Summary: AU of His Last Vow JOHNLOCK! Don't like, don't read. Depression, slash and fluff Enjoy!


_**AU for His Last Vow, in which Mary isn't pregnant, Moriarty isn't back and Sherlock left. Anyway, definitely not Moffat so Sherlock isn't mine :( Enjoy**_

John moved back to Baker Street. He'd tried with Mary; he really had if for no other reason than because Sherlock had tried so hard to give him a second chance, but when he found out Mary had lied about her pregnancy it had been the last straw. He packed his bags and moved back to the old flat, doing his best to ignore Mary's demands that he stay. He told himself he was moving back so he could be near Mrs. Hudson, whose health was slowly failing, but if he were to admit the truth he was moving back because Baker Street was the one place he could still sense Sherlock's presence.  
Only immense force of will kept John from joining Mrs. Hudson in failing health; he was desperate for news of Sherlock. He knew he shouldn't hope for yet another miraculous return but else was left too him if he didn't have hope?  
Weeks passed in a daze for John and still he could not bear to go back to Mary. He could have forgiven her for lying to him, even for faking her pregnancy, but she had nearly killed Sherlock and that was the one thing John Watson could not forgive. He couldn't bear to lose Sherlock because of Mary or anyone else; Sherlock was his but he'd never told him and now all he had were memories.  
The memories were clearest in baker Street; he often woke in the early morning hours convinced he heard haunting, wistful strains of violin music drifting up the stairs from Sherlock's room. On a cold evening, it was so easy to picture Sherlock sitting in his familiar chair before the fire, eyes half closed in contemplation of some problem.  
London was a darker place without Sherlock; there were whispers on street corners of criminal organizations rising in the shadows, and memories of two best friends who had been so much more lurked in the alleyways. John wandered through London; trying to feel the city as Sherlock had, and wondering where Sherlock was now. He would come back he had too.  
Mycroft shook his head when John asked him for news. "He isn't coming back this time, John, I'm truly sorry." But John could not accept it. Sherlock always came back.  
A month later Mary vanished and John couldn't help but be relieved. Her absence made everything less complicated; he was free again, free to wait for Sherlock to come back.  
"You have to come back, Sherlock. Please, I need you to come back!" There was no answer from the dark flat. "I need more than your memory, Sherlock, I need you! Please, please…"  
He was tired, so tired and alone. Sherlock had said six months; it had been three and there was still no news, no thread of solid hope for him to cling to. Mrs. Hudson was improving slowly and John knew she would start asking questions soon; wondering about Mary, asking why he was still in Baker Street. John didn't know how to answer. He knew he would wait for Sherlock no matter how long it took, but he didn't know how to explain why, even to himself.  
What did Sherlock really mean to him? Was there even a word for what he felt? He thought he'd loved Mary but he'd never been so wrong; was love what he felt for Sherlock? It had to be, it was that feeling that consumed him, that made him hold onto the memories regardless of the pain.  
He came home to Baker Street one night; his arms full of shopping bags, and stopped, frozen in the hallway. His heart seemed to flutter to a halt in his chest; violin music drifted down the stairs filling the flat with soft, golden notes. He recognized that violin, that style of playing and the shopping slid from his suddenly numb fingers. He climbed the stairs at a run and stopped dead in the hallway suddenly terrified. If he was wrong, if it wasn't Sherlock…The music cut off abruptly and was followed by a clatter comparable to a violin being thrown aside.  
John waited, barely breathing, unable to move. "Honestly, John, are you going to skulk around out there all night?" It was Sherlock and John could breathe again; before he could move Sherlock appeared in the doorway and took two quick steps toward him wrapping his long arms around John's shoulders in a fierce embrace.  
John found himself sobbing in Sherlock's arms, letting go of the pain and stress he'd felt since Sherlock left. "I begged you to come back, Sherlock." he mumbled into Sherlock's chest and felt the detective's arms tighten around him.  
"I know. I know." He put his hands on John's shoulders and pushed him back staring into his eyes and John realized then what he had to say.  
"Sherlock Holmes, I love you."  
Sherlock didn't say a word, instead he leaned down and kissed John square on the mouth and John knew at last this was real; he would never have dreamed something as strange and wonderful as this.


End file.
